Beneath It All
by PlayTheGame
Summary: As heavyweight boxing champion of the world, Paul Levesque struggles to deal with his increasing celebrity. He hates the press, he hates the questions and the constant media attention. Stephanie McMahon is tasked with writing a feature story on boxing's newest sensation and is surprised to discover the truth about the man behind the gloves. 3-parter that is very much AU. Steph/HHH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Ok so this is a little more than AU but just roll with it lol. It's also the first thing I've been able to write in a very long time which is why I have decided to post it. There are another 2 parts and then it's done and I already have most of the next chapter complete. I'm really hoping I can post the rest pretty quickly. I'm also really hoping this will give me my wings back. I haven't been feeling very inspired to write a whole lot lately. Maybe this is the start of it coming back to me. Anyways, yes this is definitely a weird one and yes, the thought of Trips as a boxer instead of a wrestler is hilariously weird but it's pretty good, I swear! Enjoy...**

* * *

Stephanie McMahon smiled absently at the young teen who held the door as she stepped through. Her black heels clacked sharply off the chipped and dirty tile floor. For the millionth time that day she silently wondered why the hell she had ever agreed to this. Sports were not her forte. She had zero interest writing about this guy yet her editor seemed to think her readers would go nuts with him on the cover. That was the only reason she was here. Regardless of her thoughts on the subject, Paul 'The Knockout' Levesque was one of the most popular people on the planet right now. A cover story featuring him would sell like hotcakes. She only hoped he was able to string two sentences together. From her experience, athletes weren't the best in-depth interview never mind boxers.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Her bright blue eyes were drawn to a short aging man. He was stooped over a wooden stool staring at her suspiciously. Stephanie tried not to let her eyes look past him and through the battered plastic window, barely concealing the dingy gym on the other side. "Hi. I'm Stephanie McMahon from Vanity Fair."

When he continued to stare blankly she let out a quiet sigh. He obviously had no clue who the fuck she was or why somebody like her was even in a dump like this. "I'm here to interview Mr Levesque."

Again nothing.

"Paul Levesque?"

This time her irritation got the better of her and she pointed through the bulletproof glass at a man ducking around the boxing ring inside. "That guy?" She didn't even know if it was him or not but she pointed anyway.

"Where you say you was from again?"

His voice sounded like gravel and his face was tired. Stephanie immediately felt bad for talking to him like an idiot. "I'm from Vanity Fair." This time she stepped closer and spoke a little louder. "I'm here to interview the champ."

Interview the champ? Why did she say that? She never spoke like that.

"Oh right. Charlie said a broad was coming by. Hey Charlie! The broad for the in'erview is here!"

The gravel in his voice made way for a surprising bellow. Stephanie stared wide eyed. For such a little guy he sure had a bite.

"You're early."

A tall broad shouldered man wearing a somewhat expensive looking suit appeared suddenly.

"Is that a problem?"

"Absolutely not," he answered with a smile. "He's not finished training yet so you'll have to wait. Do you mind?"

She shrugged her shoulders and followed him through the dilapidated door. "It's fine."

"Charlie Spence by the way. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Stephanie shook the offered hand and attempted a smile. It was very difficult given the fusty smell of stale sweat that had attacked her nostrils the second she had walked into the room. "Likewise."

"I'm very grateful you reached out to us for the interview. Trust me, we had our pick of the lot, Paul's a hot topic right now, but Vanity Fair? You guys were at the top of the list." Charlie directed her to the beaten sofa just off to the side of the ring. It was the only decent place for her to sit and truth be told, he wasn't expecting…well, he wasn't expecting _her_ to come walking through the door. In his mind he had never pictured her to be so attractive. Now this beautiful reporter from Vanity Fair had waltzed into their gym and the place was a complete tip. The back of his neck burned in embarrassment. "He'll be ready to talk in a couple of minutes. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'm fine, honestly. I'm just going to walk around if that's okay? Get a feel for the place. It'll help with the story."

"Sure, knock yourself out!"

It was corny but Stephanie laughed anyway. She did want to look around. Maybe there would be some cute little anecdote scribbled on the wall about him or something. But there was too much activity in the ring to pass up. She slowly walked towards the action, her eyes immediately drawn to the two men inside…well, one in particular. She had seen the pictures, hell, she had seen the footage. Who hadn't?

He had come from out of nowhere to upset the then IBF Heavyweight Champion. It was only supposed to be a warm-up fight for Luis Cicero…until he got knocked out in the third round. The sports world was up in arms over it while laymen on the street asked the logical question; 'If somebody KO's the world champ in a non title fight then shouldn't he get a title fight next?'

It quickly became the million dollar question, a question the embarrassed World Champion wanted to put to bed.

It was a fluke.

He just got lucky.

Lightning wouldn't strike twice.

Luis Cicero was so certain it wouldn't happen again that he put his IBF Heavyweight Title on the line to prove it.

Except it did.

Overnight Paul Levesque became a boxing sensation. It didn't take three rounds this time.

Only one.

Stephanie was well versed on the story by now. She had done her research, on the boxing side of things anyway. But there was still very little information on the man himself. He didn't seem big on public speaking, only ever thanking his mother in his victory speeches and analyzing his fights for the announcers.

With every fight and every KO that passed, his matches became a bigger and bigger spectacle. The mystery surrounding him only seemed to enhance his celebrity. Most boxing critics hated his guts for appearing out of nowhere and flipping the entire sport on its head. Meanwhile most boxing fans loved to watch him fight because they knew they were guaranteed a surefire knockout. And Stephanie was convinced most women just wanted to fuck him. Standing there watching him in action, and despite her best efforts, she could certainly see why.

"Left! Left! Duck! Uppercut….come on, son….COME ON! Hit with that right. AGAIN! AGAIN!"

Just watching him was exhausting. The loud smack of leather on leather boomed throughout the large expanse of the room. It sounded lethal. Stephanie watched with deep interest. She watched his movements. She watched the way his massive arm pulled back and then cannoned forward with such force. The movement was so powerful she could literally see every muscle from his bicep to his forearm contract and then release with energy. He continued to follow the instructions as they were screamed at him.

"Gimme the winner, Paul. Gimme the winner….."

The punch that followed was so loud it reverberated around the hall. Stephanie couldn't fathom the power behind his punches. He was two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle moving at speed and with precision. His hands were weapons, that had never been as clear as it was now.

The sparring session had concluded with the money shot. Even from her untrained eye Stephanie could tell that was it, that was _it_. A flurry of activity started moving in her direction.

He was walking this way.

She backtracked, half stumbling towards the worn sofa and falling into a seated position. She was quickly surprised to find herself staring across the chipped coffee table at the current IBF, WBF and IBPA Heavyweight Champion of the world.

A sudden lump developed in her throat and she tried desperately not to stare. He was even bigger up close like this. In her peripheral vision she could vaguely make out his trainers fussing all around him but her eyes had zeroed in on a lone drop of sweat. At the most painstaking speed possible, it slowly weaved a delicate pattern from his throat all the way down to his ridiculous abs before disappearing into his black shorts.

"Paul!"

The boxing champion tipped his head in the direction of his publicist. Charlie was a nice guy but he truly hated his job. Why the fuck did he have to keep speaking to these reporters? There was only so many times he could say the same shit. Didn't they get bored asking the same questions? He sure as hell got bored giving the same answers. He didn't want any of this. He just wanted to box. Why did all this other crap have to go along with it?

"Paul, this is Stephanie McMahon from Vanity Fair. She's here to conduct that feature piece I was talking to you about, remember?"

Paul could hear the pleading in the other man's tone. Fuck he sounded desperate. Was he really that transparent? Withholding the sigh that so badly wanted to break free, Paul finally looked at the woman across from him and managed a small smile. "Hi."

"Hi. Ummmm, do you want to have the interview here or…?"

"Yeah, just…hold on a second. Jimmy will you take my gloves off?"

Stephanie sat silently observing the process. First the gloves were removed and set aside. She ignored the pungent whiff that followed the movement. Maybe if she stayed here long enough the smells would become second nature. Next a pair of scissors was used to cut through his heavily taped wrists and fingers. She hadn't realized how much padding was underneath a boxing glove. The area around his knuckles was glowing bright red. It changed from red to pale yellow, the skin pinching and stretching as he methodically flexed his fingers. There was the smallest hint of a grimace on his face each time his hands made a fist. Stephanie suddenly regretted not bringing a photographer along. All of this would have made for fantastic images to compliment the piece.

"Here you go, Champ."

With his hands now free, Paul quickly rubbed a towel over his face before pulling on a black hoodie. He left the zip undone and settled back into the lumpy yet still comfortable cushions. This gym was a complete and utter dump but it was his dump. He felt at home when he trained here. It reminded him of where he came from. He didn't need a fancy bright gym with new equipment. All he had ever needed was a pair of gloves, a ring and something to hit. "So you're from Vanity Fair?"

"That's right."

"I must be getting important."

The comment, accompanied by a brief little smirk appearing on his face, put Stephanie at ease. She too got comfortable and clicked her pen. "What makes you say that?"

"I've done these things before but I didn't know half the people I was talking to. I know Vanity Fair."

Stephanie started the recording on her phone and placed it in the centre of the coffee table. At his questioning gaze she told him it was merely for her records. "So Paul, where should we start?"

"Isn't that supposed to be your job?"

"This doesn't have to be a chore you know."

His deadpan expression told her everything she needed to know. He clearly hated the fact that he was being forced to have these interviews. Somehow it made her want to help him out. She just didn't know how.

"I've already said what it feels like to be undefeated. I've already said what it feels like to knockout champion after champion. I've already said I don't give a shit what the critics have to say about me. No offense…Miss McMahon, but I don't really see what else you can possibly want to know about me."

It wasn't an outburst by any means but it was clearly a man venting about his own personal groundhog day.

"Tell me about your childhood."

Paul was thrown by her question. What did that have to do with anything? Why did everybody want to know every single little fucking thing about him? "It was shit."

"Paul…" Charlie interrupted, already sensing where this was going. Paul could be the biggest sports star in the world if he just learned to open up a little. If he let the world in, just a little, it would quell the curiosity. By constantly refusing to open up it only fueled the fire and made people more interested. Now with the biggest fight of Paul's career in a few weeks time there was more hype than ever. The masses needed something to spin their wheels. Charlie knew this could be it. Vanity Fair. This was legitimate mainstream media. He silently urged his client to just get over it and accept that he was a genuine celebrity now. There was no denying it any more. "Paul, maybe if you talked about something _you_ want to talk about this would be more enjoyable for all of us?"

"I don't want to talk about anything."

"Jesus, Paul…"

"It's fine," Stephanie interjected. She turned to Charlie and smiled her best smile. "If you wouldn't mind I'd like to speak to Paul alone?"

"You sure?"

"Yep. Thank you."

With Charlie gone and everybody else busy with their own activities, Paul couldn't stop the sigh that escaped him this time. He'd have no choice but to participate in this. She was smart, he'd give her that. As she leafed through some pages in her notepad he took the opportunity to look her over. She wore a tight knee length navy skirt with a cream colored blouse tucked into the waist. He thought it was a bit formal for a reporter but she was certainly easy on the eyes. That he couldn't deny. In fact she was beautiful. But she probably had some guy lapping around after her. Besides, he probably wasn't good enough for somebody like her. All he seemed to attract lately were gold digging bitches who thought if they sucked his dick good enough he'd put a ring on their finger.

"Ok, let's try this again?"

Paul snapped out of his funk. "Look, just ask whatever you're going to ask, I'll say whatever you think is good and you can get out of here. Job done."

"This is a story on you, not what you think I want to hear." He stared at her and she took his silence as a chance to continue. "What is your problem with this anyway?"

"What?"

"Why can't you just talk to me? Is there something you don't want the world to know? Who is Paul Levesque? Who are you?"

The string of rapid fire questions would have annoyed him under usual circumstances. But not from her. He sighed and rubbed at his face. "Look, I'm just not…good at this stuff, ok? I don't know what to say. I don't know why everybody is so interested in the first place. I'm a fighter. I fight. That's it."

"You shocked the world. People want to see you, Paul. That's why they're interested. They want to know who you are and the longer you stay silent the more they want to know. Charlie? He gets that. Why can't you?"

For the longest time he said nothing and Stephanie had reached her limit. She was seconds away from packing up and leaving when his muttered voice kept her strapped to her seat. "I didn't hear…"

"My dad walked out when I was nine."

"OK. Ummmm…" She was thrown. "Your dad…"

"He got laid off his job and couldn't take the pressure any more I guess. So he walked out. From then it's been me and my mom."

The way his tone immediately grew soft when he spoke of his mother truly moved Stephanie. He clearly had a great affection for her. It seemed she had finally broken through. "Tell me more about your mom…"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Me again...with a second update in a week. I KNOW PEOPLE! It's weird but I'm rolling with it. Somehow this story has turned out to be the complete opposite of what I thought but here we are. At least I'm posting. And yes, I know 'The Knockout' is a shitty name but whatever lol. This story is an anomaly and I don't know why it's even happening. Probably that boxing insta of Trips the other day. Yeah, that's probably it. Enjoy...**

* * *

"Ok now if you could just make a fist….a fist…..you know? Like you're in the ring?"

The boxing champion tried not to feel stupid as he raised his hand and made a pretend fist.

"Try to look angrier, like you're in the middle of a fight!"

This fucking photographer. If he wasn't careful Paul was going to end up punching him in the face. What the hell was this bullshit? Why dress him in some swanky suit and then ask him to make fighting poses? He didn't get it.

"Can't you just…..look angrier?" The man holding the camera almost growled the instruction in pure frustration. "What makes you angry? Just think of that and channel it into the shot…..what makes you angry?"

"Photographers."

Charlie Spence hung his head in his hands at the clipped answer. Paul was deadly serious, he knew it. He also knew that his client was about five seconds away from breaking every camera in the vicinity. "Paul…"

Paul took great satisfaction in the way the photographers face had fallen followed by his little gulp of fear. But then Charlie had to go and open his stupid mouth. This whole thing was his fucking fault in the first place. "What?"

"How about we take a quick break?" The producer on the shoot could sense the tension building and wisely suggested a break. Maybe it would give the man of the hour a moment to calm down. It was clear as day that he wasn't comfortable doing this. They almost had to strap him down when he heard the word makeup. So far they were only in the second phase of the three phase shoot. The first was casual wear. He didn't seem to have too much of a problem in jeans. But when the suits came out for phase two? Needless to say he had been less than cooperative. She shimmied off the set for a moment and felt tangible relief flood her body at the sight of the woman walking through the door.

"Stephanie!"

"Hey Melissa. I just thought I'd….."

"Thank God you're here."

Stephanie's brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn't until she looked that she picked up on the obvious tension in the air. "What's going on?"

"This is _not_ going well."

"What do you mean…" Stephanie's voice trailed off when her eyes connected with an almost pleading pair of hazel eyes across the room. He looked desperate, not to mention uncomfortable and pissed off. All at the same time. It was quite the talent. "Excuse me," she muttered to Melissa. It was only when she was standing in front of him that she realized how damn good he looked in that suit. "Hey."

"Hey," Paul murmured. Honestly he was happy to see her. They had talked for almost two hours last week and despite himself, Paul had actually enjoyed the interview. It was probably because she was the first person to actually show a bit of genuine interest in his story. She didn't want to know about his career, she wanted to know about _him_. When she mentioned a photo shoot he had been excited at the prospect of getting to see her again. Then he got here this morning and she was nowhere to be found.

"I don't think I've ever seen you all dressed up before." _You look good_. Obviously she couldn't say it out loud but it didn't stop her from thinking it.

"Yeah," Paul murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not my first choice. I feel kinda stupid."

He let out an embarrassed little chuckle and Stephanie swore she felt her stomach flip. He was practically blushing. God, what the hell was she even doing here anyway? Her office was six floors above the photography department. There was absolutely no reason for her to be here. But she just couldn't help herself. The simple fact of knowing that he was in the building today compelled her to stop by. The truth was, she wanted to see him again. "You don't look stupid. Just…uncomfortable."

"How have you been?"

The question threw her. "Ummmm…"

Paul didn't even know why he asked that. "I just….it's been a week since the interview and….

"I'm great!" God this was awkward. Why was this awkward? Stephanie fought the urge to cringe. She didn't want it to be like this. Besides, this was work. He was a work project. No matter how attractive he was she couldn't cross that line. As he stood there staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world she realized just how hard that was going to be. She was attracted to him period. Fuck.

"That's good." Paul could see her brain running a mile a minute and frowned. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Listen, I think I'd prefer to have you in the ring."

"What?"

"The photo shoot….I meant the….I'd like to have the photo shoot in the ring." She was stammering like a God damn idiot. "Hold on a second, I'm going to speak to the team and see if we can get this moved to your gym."

She didn't even give him a chance to respond. Paul simply watched her stalk towards the dickhead with the camera. They spoke briefly and if Paul wasn't mistaken, there had been a visible look of relief on the other man's face. Before he knew what was happening everybody was packing up equipment and they were on their way to the elevators.

* * *

"Thank you."

Stephanie looked up from her notepad and smiled. "You don't have to thank me. These pictures are ten times better than the others. You look so much more relaxed in the ring. I'm glad we came here."

"So am I." Paul didn't hesitate to sit next to her on the same dingy couch where they had spoken last week. He wanted to ask her something but was shit scared that she'd say no. "I actually managed to enjoy myself."

She was hard pressed to disagree. There were definitely worse ways to spend an afternoon than watching him in just his shorts pose around the gym. "That's surprising." She forgot herself for a moment and playfully bumped his shoulder.

"You must think I'm an asshole."

"I don't. I think…" she faltered, deciding to take a second to choose her words. "I think you're overwhelmed Paul. I think you're a man who's still trying to come to grips with his sudden fame. I think you're a private person who'd rather his personal business wasn't put out there for the world to see. I think you can be…difficult, but I don't think you're an asshole." Stephanie looked at him and held his intense gaze. If she wasn't mistaken, he was looking at her like… No. No way. She was imagining things.

Paul simply couldn't stop staring at her. How could she understand so much about him when they had only met twice and spoken for not even two hours? Why did he even feel so comfortable talking to her in the first place? God she was beautiful. And he was completely fucked. "I thought you were a reporter, not a shrink."

She caught the humor in his tone and smiled, finally breaking their gaze to glance towards the ring. "Half of reporting is reading people. You're not as hard to read as you think."

"Nobody has ever really bothered before."

"Bothered to what?"

"Read me. Get to know me. All anybody wants is a picture or an autograph or a retelling of my fight against Cicero, or Lampard, or Nunez. They want me to play fight with their kids and try to teach them how to punch in less than a minute. The sports channels ask the same things over and over again. When I meet other writers, sports writers, I can feel how much they hate me. They think I'm a one trick pony, a knockout artist and that's it. An amateur who keeps getting lucky. But you…" He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her knee but he stopped himself. He didn't even want to finish his sentence.

Stephanie's heart was pounding. "What?"

"You didn't care about any of that. You wanted to know about me."

They regarded each other silently, both eager for more but neither willing to take that step. For Stephanie it was a line she couldn't cross. She was a professional. She couldn't become romantically linked to one of her stories. It wasn't good for business. For Paul the fear of rejection weighed like a ton on his shoulders. He shouldn't be stressing about this with the biggest fight of his life just a week away. But he liked her.

He really liked her.

Fuck it.

"Do you want to come to the fight next week?"

"Paul I….I can't." It killed her to say it. It killed her even more when she saw the rejection in his eyes.

"Right. It's fine. Ummmm, I guess I'll…" He tried to stand but stopped at the feel of her fingers wrapped around his forearm.

Stephanie couldn't even believe she was about to do this. She would have to spin it as being part of the piece. "I'll come."

"You will?"

"Yes. I want to." She let herself smile and it only grew bigger at the wide smile she received in return.

"Champ! We need ya over here for a spar."

Paul almost didn't hear Jimmy yelling across the gym hall. He could look at Stephanie all day long if he let himself. But he had a fight to prepare for.

"CHAMP!"

"I should go." Stephanie bashfully glanced to the ground, smile still firmly in place. They both stood and she relished the feel of his hand on the small of her back. They walked to the door in a comfortable silence. She didn't want to leave.

Paul wanted to kiss her but kept the urge at bay. Instead he simply smiled once again and let his fingers trail over her arm as he pulled his hand away. "See you next week?"

She nodded and turned to leave. "Bye."

"Bye."

Inside the ring Charlie and Jimmy exchanged amused glances. It seemed the world champ had something of a high school crush. "Is that going to be a problem?" Charlie indicated with a flick of his head towards the door.

"Nah," Jimmy replied confidently. "PAUL! Get your ass over here and stop chasing tail. We've got work to do..."

Paul snapped out of his funk and headed for the ring. He really couldn't afford any distractions. But that was only one way of looking at it. With the fight on the horizon Stephanie could be a distraction…or, she could be an extra shot of motivation. He didn't want to lose this fight but with her watching he had more reason than ever. An intense surge of adrenaline shot through his body. He was ready for this. Maybe next week he'd walk out of Las Vegas with more than the gold.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - I'm posting this as a distraction to all the bad news today. And yes, I really actually finished something! AMAZING! I'm rather proud of myself and even though this probably isn't the best thing I've ever written (the whole story I mean), it has got my writing juices flowing again. For that I'm thankful. So enjoy...**

* * *

Stephanie shut her eyes at what felt like a million camera flashes going off all at once. A thunderous roar erupted all around her. The action in the ring was fast and furious but to her it was almost like she was watching in slow motion. Another vociferous roar accentuated the fifth consecutive punch right to the champions face. She watched in horror as a red mist sprayed out of…somewhere.

His mouth?

His nose?

She had no idea because his entire face was painted crimson. The blood thirsty hoards surrounding her were literally salivating at what they were seeing. The knockout artist champion was now in his seventh round of boxing and his challenger appeared to have a jaw made out of steel. The ultimate chess match, albeit completely barbaric and difficult to watch in her opinion.

Stephanie let out an audible gasp when Paul was knocked off his feet. An eruption of noise like she had never heard before caused her ears to start ringing. Not a single person was sitting down as the referee started counting.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

Her heart willed him to get up. The sigh of relief that unabashedly flew out of her mouth when he slowly staggered to his feet surprised her.

6…

7…

Her concerned blue eyes stared in amazement as Paul stood back up and immediately dove back into the fray. She ignored the audible groans of some of those seated next to her. Too many people wanted him to lose. It was only tonight that she truly understood what he had been talking about during their interview. Nobody believed in him. Nobody believed he was anything other than a fluke, even after being the champion for all this time he was still forced to prove himself with every fight.

Mercifully the bell rang signaling the end of the round. Stephanie studied him intensely. He was beat to hell but through it all, despite his bruised body and bloody face he kept his head held high. She truly admired his strength and determination. It was now common knowledge that this was the longest he had ever boxed during his professional career. The benefit of KO'ing everybody so quickly was that his fights didn't usually last that long. But the clear disadvantage was manifesting itself right now. No early knockout meant a longer fight and for Paul that meant being thrust into a situation he wasn't familiar with.

"Levesque is such a joke man."

"I'm amazed he's lasted this long."

"He's such a fucking fluke. Look at him. There's no way he's winning this."

Stephanie felt her blood boil. Who the fuck did these idiots think they were? More importantly than that, why the hell was she getting so defensive over him? Paul was…she didn't know what he was if she was being honest. But she definitely cared about him, that she did know. Watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp was bad enough without the added commentary. Deciding to take the high road, she ignored the comments and went back to watching him intently. She could still remember the brief little flicker of amusement in his eyes as they joked quietly in his locker room just before she was whisked away to her seat in the third row. It was one of only two moments when his expression hadn't been consumed with pure and utter focus. The other had been when she had pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

For luck.

His brown eyes had softened as he just stared at her, both of them losing themselves in the moment. Deep down Stephanie knew why she was being so defensive. She knew why her fingers hurt from gripping the edge of her seat so hard. She knew why her heart was in her throat. It was because that innocent kiss and the look they had shared after had meant more to her than any moment she had shared with anybody else. She'd had full blown relationships that never set her entire body alight the way that short moment had with Paul.

The bell rang once more indicating the start of the next round. Stephanie absently gripped the edge of her seat again. She just wanted it to be over now. Why couldn't it just be over?

It seemed the boxing Gods had other plans in mind. Vladimir Aminev, the giant Slovenian contender for the title, seemed to catch his second wind and was dropping bombs left and right. Stephanie was almost in tears as Paul was backed into the corner. With every shot that landed his hands dropped lower and lower. She was no boxing expert but she was pretty sure that being able to defend yourself was critical to participation.

The atmosphere in the MGM Grand reached fever pitch.

This was it.

Aminev was finally set to fulfill the media's prophecy and dethrone the champion.

Inside the ring Paul could barely see. Everything was blurry and tinted red. He breathed heavily as another blow cracked against his ribs. If he didn't find a way out Aminev was going to drop him where he stood.

He blinked…

Once.

Twice.

With every ounce of power left in his body he lashed out. It was wild but it was effective. The giant Slovenian stumbled back. Paul swung wildly again, drawing strength from the perfect connection his glove made with Aminev's left cheek. All around him the place was going nuts but he heard none of it. He jabbed twice with the left and then landed a devastating right that sent the other man tumbling back.

Paul surged forward and connected with another right. This time the Slovak fell to one knee. Without a seconds hesitation Paul followed through with what would be the final punch of the match. Aminev's head hit the mat to the sound of deafening cheers. It was only then that he allowed himself to take it in.

He did it.

He had won.

A few feet away Stephanie roared her congratulations. The same idiots who just minutes ago had been talking crap were now on their feet cheering with everybody else. It had all happened so quickly she could hardly even believe it. She couldn't take her eyes off him as his trainers jumped in the ring to celebrate. Charlie looked like he was about to spontaneously combust and she was pretty sure she had seen actual dollar signs in his eyes. How could she blame him? There was now no doubt that Paul Levesque was one of the biggest sports stars in the world. Whether he wanted it or not, his performance tonight had solidified it.

She continued to watch as he was paraded around the ring. The official announcement would happen as soon Vladimir Aminev got to his feet and from the looks of it, it might not be any time soon. He was out cold.

When Paul finally turned in her direction she tried not to gasp at the way his gaze immediately fell upon her. He didn't look away, not until he was announced the victor and his arm raised high in the air did he break eye contact.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the MGM Grand….your winner…by _knockout_ in the eighth round…and STILL the reigning IBF heavyweight boxing champion of the woooorld….PAUL 'THE KNOCKOUT' LEVESQUE!"

Bruce Buffer's infamous voice seemed to cut through the endless echo of noise and excitement in the air. Another loud cheer erupted from the spectators. Stephanie smiled. He did it. He had won.

* * *

"Is it ok to go in?"

"Miss McMahon!" Charlie Spence half slurred. He took another long gulp of champagne and grinned like an idiot. "Can you believe it?"

Stephanie was certain that Mr Spence was going to drink himself into a stupor if he wasn't careful. The man was practically swaying, his eyes bright and glossy. "It's amazing…..can I go in?" She just wanted to see him.

"Yes…yes! Move aside and let her in guys. He's been asking for you."

A bashful little smile tugged at her lips at that admission. She maneuvered her way through the throng of people stationed outside his door. Surprisingly the noise and activity completely evaporated as soon as she stepped inside. She found him sitting on the trainer's table with his shiny gold belt sitting at his side. His right hand was resting in a bowl of ice.

"Hey."

When he looked up she sucked in a sharp breath. The damage to his face left him looking like he just survived a car crash. In many ways he had. Bruised cheek and jaw, heavy purple-red bags under both eyes and a nasty gash slowly oozing blood on to the hefty gauze around his left temple…and yet, he was still the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen.

Even though his entire face hurt, Paul smiled at the sight of her. "Hey. Come on in."

"It's quiet in here."

"Yeah…I just didn't feel like moving yet."

She took in his appearance and smiled softly. He was still clad in his black and gold shorts. His boots were undone, the tongues flapping loose without the laces to hold the shoe together. He had every right in the world to just sit and do nothing.

"Did you like the fight?"

"I don't know if _like_ is the right word but….yes. Yes I did. And I'm really glad you won."

His entire face lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning. "Me too." The title clanked against the metal support of the trainer's table as it was triumphantly wiggled in the air.

Stephanie continued her slow walk towards him and let her fingers reach out. They ran across the cold surface of the title belt and a strange feeling ran over her. All of this, all the bruises and cuts on his face, his beaten body; all of it just to be able to lay claim to a piece of gold. It would be unfair to lie and say she understood it. But the pure contentment on his battered face said it all. It meant the world to him and she knew it was because it symbolized validation. He had lasted eight brutal rounds and lived to tell the tale. Maybe now he'd no longer be the 'fluke champion' and people would show him a little bit of respect.

Paul moved the belt to the other side of the table, clearing room for her to sit down. A soft wave of perfume drifted up his nose as she sat and he was suddenly struck with the urge to kiss her. If she had walked in here an hour ago he'd likely already have had her against the wall by now. That type of adrenaline was hard to fight off. But now his body was coming down from the high and he was feeling everything tenfold.

The moment passed.

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

Her brow furrowed and without thinking she reached across the small space between them and grabbed his free hand.

"But like the most glorious shit in the world. That doesn't even make sense, does it?" Paul laughed quietly, his gaze drawn to their joined hands now resting in her lap.

"I guess it does…in a weird boxing champ of the world kind of way."

Soft blue eyes studied hard bruised knuckles. Even swollen like it was his hand still fit so perfectly with hers and it made her giddy.

"I'm still the champ but there's still one thing I want."

Stephanie swallowed the lump in her throat. His voice had dropped to a dangerously low level. It set her entire body alight. "What?"

"I really want to kiss you."

Fuck it, Paul thought to himself. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't interested and there was nothing that could ruin tonight for him. If he didn't do this he would have regretted it forever. He shifted just a little and leaned forward, head ducking and forehead resting against hers.

Her eyes slid shut and her breathing grew deep. What the hell was happening? His face was a fucking mess yet she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers. Not needing a second longer to decide, she grabbed the back of his neck and tugged him the rest of the way there. A deep sigh rumbled at the back of her throat as their lips melded together. It started gentle but it wasn't enough. She needed more. Not even the slight copper taste of his tongue rolling with hers was enough to ruin this moment. It was everything she didn't know she needed.

Paul let out a growl that was swallowed into her mouth as they kissed languidly. It was slow and probably way more than what was socially acceptable for a first kiss but he didn't care. So caught up in the moment, his right hand automatically lifted to tangle in her hair, bringing with it a large dollop of water from the ice bowl it had been resting in. They suddenly broke apart, foreheads coming to rest together.

"Sorry," he chuckled.

"It's fine. It's not every day a guy gets me all wet on the first date." His eyes grew wide at her blunt remark and her shoulders shook with laughter.

"Wow," Paul simply grinned. "Although I don't think this counts as a date. But you should let me take you on one."

"Is the champ asking me out?"

"He is."

"I accept. Now, kiss me again before the hordes come bursting through this door."

She didn't have to ask him twice. His lips crashed against hers, his right hand threading through her hair anyway. The validation he secretly craved, the world title still in his midst and a beautiful woman by his side. This night couldn't have gone any better if he had planned it himself. And deep in his gut, Paul had a strong feeling that things would last for much longer than one night, especially when it came to one Stephanie McMahon.


End file.
